


It all starts good

by cptsuke



Series: stories from the same routine [5]
Category: The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the scars Jensen had, the puckered, badly healed circle high on his shoulder was Cougar's favourite. They'd stopped the blood with a ripped up shirt and held it all together with duct tape. Unable to do much more than that; Roque, Cougar and Jensen had spent days hiding while a city tore itself apart looking for them</p>
            </blockquote>





	It all starts good

It starts good. Which inevitably means that it's gonna go bad.  
  
That being said, Jensen looks like a fucking six year old free falling at forty five thousand feet. He fucking twists and Roque can almost hear him laughing. It's kind of annoying how much the hacker fucking enjoys _everything_.  
  
Cougar hates HALO and HAHO. He's okay with civvie level jumps, but the cold up here makes the sniper annoyed and quiet.   
  
Roque, as per fucking usual, keeps his feelings close to his chest. Jensen still says that he's pretty much convinced Roque's blank, rock-like face is really his _I'm having so much fun, I could fucking die_ face.   
  
Oh yes, it is true, Roque loves this shit but when Jensen teases him about it, he just smiles as creepily as he can and refuses to admit anything.  
  
  
  
Okay. The mission is this.   
  
Three guys. Cougar, Jensen and Roque. Lookout slash sniper, hacker and guy to watch hacker's back.  
  
One seriously well guarded R &D building.   
  
One under construction office building across the street for them to set up shop and for Cougar to play lookout from.  
  
And one scheduled day of chaotic computer maintenance and review for Roque and Jensen to sneak in undetected.  
  
Perfect fucking plan.  
  
  
  
They get into the room easily. (Honestly, Roque feels a _lot_ of embarrassment for the security.)   
  
Jensen heads for the computer and Roque starts rigging up the data towers to go boom.   
  
"Holy shit."   
  
Roque looks up from what he's doing to glare at Jensen.  
  
"What?"  
  
"This is some seriously fine fucking coding."  
  
"What the fuck does that mean in non-geek?" Because whenever Jensen's speaking, Roque never quite sure if the hacker is just making shit up.  
  
"It's like the beginning of a program that could decrypt pretty much everything we transmit."  
  
"Serious?"  
  
"Oh yeah. I mean, it's not completed, they haven't quite got all the bits," The hacker gestures wildly in a way that's supposed to describe something Roque just doesn't get. "But shit yeah."  
  
"Well, hurry up so we can blow this popsicle stand."  
  
"Seems a shame to destroy all this nice R and D."   
  
"You do realise that's what we're here for?"  
  
"I know, I know, but man. What a waste."  
  
"Stop playing with yourself and just download what we came for. Before Cougar gets tired of watching our asses and goes for a fucking taco."  
  
"Man, he never gets tired of it. The dirty, perverted, voyeuristic Mexican," Jensen types in time to his words and finishes with a whine. "Fuck, now I want a taco."  
  
  
  
Jensen's mostly finished when alarms start blaring. The room actually goes fucking red, which, to be perfectly fucking honest, is both _awesome_ and annoying as fuck.  
  
"What the fuck is that?!" Roque screams and later Jensen will likely be annoying as fuck and tease the ever-loving fuck out of him for that high pitch. But for now, he's just a little confused. He has no idea what the fuck has set all the noise off.  
  
"Uhh?"  
  
"Is that us? Was that you? Did you do that?"  
  
"No! Uhh, I don't think? Huh, it actually wasn't me." And, okay, Roque is a little surprised too, not because he actually thinks Jensen would do something stupid like that on mission. But because it seems a little plausible that it's them - the intruders - that would be setting off alarms and shit.  
  
"What the fuck was it then?" Jensen is rapid fire typing, bitching about how everything's gotten harder and _laggier_ since the alarms started going off, but he manages to bring up the security feeds.  
  
"Huh. HAH! Looks like we weren't the only ones with the bright idea of breaking in today." It's a five, no, _six_ man team. And they're being really fucking indiscreet.  
  
"Who the fuck are they?"   
  
"Ch-"  
  
"If you say Chechen rebels _I'm_ gonna shoot you."  
  
"Anti-governmental types from Chechnya?" _Of course_ Jensen can't resist answering.   
  
"Dude, what the fuck is the deal with your hard-on for Chechen rebels?" Roque thinks if there's a big scoreboard in the sky, he's fucking lost a point for saying 'dude' in front of Jensen.  
  
"Man, I don't even know. It's fun to say. Chech _nya_." Jensen laughs when he sees the look on Roque's face and starts loading up his virus. "They _are_ fucking with our carefully laid plans though. Now we gotta dodge security and _them_. Whoever the fuck _they_ are. Okay, you ready to explode some shit?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
Jensen looks at him sideways, disappointed.  
  
"Dude, would it have killed you to say 'I was born ready, motherfucker'?"  
  
Yes, Jensen, it quite possibly _would_ kill Roque to play along with your shit.  
  
  
  
They know the intruders, the _other_ intruders, are in the building. But in between Jensen's fucking with the security cameras to keep them off the feeds and the new fuckers blowing up shit and setting off alarms, they can't pin down where exactly they are.   
  
Even though they must be heading this way, it's still a complete fucking surprise when the door blasts open. The metal frame twisting and the heavy door almost fucking squashes Roque as it flies off its hinges.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
In the chaos, Roque fumbles for the detonator and catches a look at Jensen's face before he turns back to his computer. The hacker's face was surprise quickly giving way to a carefully blank mask. The guys busting in don't see Jensen's hand by his side, unholstering his pistol but Roque gets a rifle butt in the face when he tries to detonate the hardware he's wired up.  
  
From the floor - blood drooling from where his teeth have split his lip, detonater lying harmlessly a foot from him - Roque watches Jensen raise his piece; pointing it at his computer.   
  
The guys - six, heavily armed professionals - start shouting in heavily accented English at Jensen's back.   
  
_Drop it! Put it down, муди́ло!_  
  
Jensen looks over his shoulder, at Roque. He doesn't look scared. Doesn't look worried. He looks like he did one day, ages ago, in the hot desert sun, blood trickling out from under kevlar and tired eyes. Tired but shit-eatingly full of self confidence.  
  
The hacker closes his eyes.  
  
Roque times it fucking carefully, all their attention on Jensen - most importantly, _not on Roque_. The split second before Jensen pulls the trigger, Roque scrambles across the floor, the man standing over him does a half hearted _hey_ before Roque punches the side of his knee. Not stopping to listen to the satisfying _crack_ , Roque grabs at the detonator and triggers it.  
  
Shrapnel fills the air and everyone fires their fucking weapons.  
  
  
  
When Roque's head clears - the shooting and noise stopping - the first thing he notices is two guys beside him that look very dead. Roque doesn't care either way and is sure as hell not checking for a pulse.  
  
The second thing he notices is his arm; cut up, burnt and full of shrapnel. Tiny sharp metal bits from the computers, which Roque thinks Jensen would find pretty fucking funny. He always did say that computers were dangerous, and Roque should know by now that adding C4 to anything upped its fucking danger rating. Fuck, even _bunnies_ strapped to C4 are dangerous. Not that Roque ever thinks about that. Jensen probably does. Weird fucker.   
  
Actually, fuck, _Jensen_. Roque, wondering exactly how much damage he's done to his head if it's taken him this long to remember the hacker, tries to pull himself up off the ground. But he's stopped by a weight on his back.   
  
A knee. He figures he's got a guy sitting on his back, digging his knee into Roque's spine and holding him down. Roque can still move his head so he looks around and try to work out what the fuck their situation is. A guy - short, stick thin, pasty and wearing coke bottle glasses - is standing over Jensen's laptop, a pissed off look on his face. He's obviously the tech guy of their group, and Roque can't help but feel disappointed at the guy on Jensen's behalf. Jensen's always going on about how fucking stereotypical nerds are and _jesus guys, come on._  
  
But Jensen's not talking.   
  
Roque shifts, _wriggles_ , to get a better look across the room. Jensen isn't moving either. One of the guys talks quickly with their tech and angrily kicks Jensen in the face. It doesn't look like the first one the hacker's gotten either. If it wasn't for the bastard on Jensen's back tying his hands up with computer cable, Roque would wonder if he was dead. From his angle, Roque can see blood on Jensen's shirt, but he can't see where it's coming from, or even if it's his.   
  
The intruders speak rapidly in a language Roque doesn't quite know. It's only half familiar and some of the words make a sort of sense. Jensen would know it. But then he likes all the languages from the shittier parts of Europe.   
  
If Roque has to listen to another fucking impromptu translation of Star Wars in Croatian, he will actually kill someone. Perhaps everyone.   
  
Roque speaks German like a fucking native, passing French, Spanish and Swedish and, fuck, can pull off a flawless English accent (even if that's information he will _never_ fucking divulge) and whatever they're speaking isn't any of them.   
  
They seem pretty fucking agitated, babbling to each other angrily. They didn't expect to find a special ops team already in here, from the look of them they maybe hoped to kidnap a nerd on their way out with whatever they pulled off the computer and that's been fucked up too. Well, too fucking bad, Roque's day isn't exactly going to fucking plan either.  
  
  
  
Getting out of the building is disappointingly easy. Despite the fact that they're carrying Jensen, his shot laptop and manhandling Roque they still manage to bundle them into the back of a van without anyone getting shot by security.   
  
The skinny nerd grabs at Jensen before they take off, a syringe in hand. Roque kicks at the guy but one of the others shoves him back, the hard metal floor hits the bottom of his chin and Roque barely misses biting his tongue off. He glares at the guy, teeth fucking _aching_ , and he is going to skull fuck that man with a fucking knife.  
  
"Вы не будете жить, чтобы жалеть об этом." The guy growls at Roque, and no matter how fucking sinister the words sound, Roque bares his bloodied teeth at the guy. A sharp fucking grin.  
  
Jensen groans as the syringe goes into his neck, picking a really goddamned stupid time to come back to consciousness. Then they shove him at Roque, shut the doors and leave them in the semi-darkness.  
  
Jensen blinks at him with his good eye as the van squeals rubber and takes off. With their hands tied behind their backs it's really fucking hard to brace against the van's movements and they both grunt as they're slammed into the van's side by a particularly sharp corner.  
  
Jensen laughs, a laugh that sounds like it's coming from something hurt inside him, and rolls back upright.  
  
"Dude, it's like Grand Theft Auto Kiev!" He shouts too loudly, shaking his head like it's he's trying to rattle his brain around in his skull.  
  
"Fucking spetsnaz man, what the actual fuck?" Jensen complains; half annoyed, half pleased with himself. "Fucking Russians fucking up our carefully laid plans."  
  
"Shut up." Roque says it, not because he wants Jensen to shut up, but because the hacker's voice is getting louder and it doesn't look like he's noticing it himself.  
  
"Dude, do you have any idea how much planning went into this stupid mission? How many hours - long, _long_ , boring hours - that _I_ spent going over their fucking schedules and systems and fucking security procedures? When we could've just flash banged our way in, killed everybody, and then bombed our way out. Jesus fucking Christ, fucking _Russians_ , man."   
  
He's shaking in between all his ranting, Roque notices though he's not sure Jensen notices himself. Teeth gritted, the shivering looks more like spasms; a spastic jerk between fine tremors.  
  
"Do you think Cougar saw what happened?" He asks, bumping against Roque as the van crosses what feels like a railroad.   
  
"Unless he was off getting a taco." Roque watches the hacker beside him. He looks sweaty and paler. Not that you could hardly fucking tell, pasty little fucker.  
  
"I bet you one hundred and twenty five bucks that he'll come to the rescue and be all sore because he'll have hurt himself jumping off something retardedly high." Roque frowns.  
  
"That is the most goddamned random amount to fucking bet."  
  
"S'whats in my wallet." His words slur a little. "I bet he'll say something fucking cool too. You know, those fucking one liners that make you wanna punch him?"  
  
"Alright, but that's a pretty specific bet."  
  
"Cougar is a pretty specific sorta guy." Jensen nods to himself and Roque remembers how fucking well Jensen knows Cougar, realises that he's probably going to lose this bet. _Goddammit_.   
  
"One good thing though. We've made it fucking hard for them to get out of the city. It'll give Cougs time to be all plan formulatey."  
  
"Makes it hard for us too." Roque adds, in case Jensen is forgetting that.  
  
"Dude." Jensen glares across at him with glassy eyes. "It's just a silver lining, not clouds made of fucking sunshine, rainbows and Angelina Jolie's rack."  
  
"Hey!" Roque says, trying to cut into the ranting. "You okay?"   
  
"Weeell," Jensen drawls the word out longer than necessary. "I have just been shot, you know. And stabbed. In the fucking neck. Ow." He rolls his shoulders and scrunches up his face with disgust.  
  
"Jensen! Are you okay?"  
  
Jensen blinks again, sobers up for the moment.  
  
"Yeah man, fucking hurts but I don't seem to be bleeding to death. How's my face look?"  
  
Once Roque's brother shot a man on their lawn in the face with a .22 rifle. All it did was bounce around between the guy's skin and skull. His face had been a mass of swelling and blood but, along with teaching Roque the value of high calibre weapons, the guy had lived. Even if his face had been turned into a horror house attraction. Jensen kind of looks like that guy right now.  
  
"Beautiful," He lies. "If you were a woman I'd fuck you."   
  
"That is not a glowing recommendation," Jensen laughs. "You'd fuck a cactus if it was wearing the right wig."  
  
Roque opens his mouth to retort; he's not sure what but it would've been scathing, he has no doubt of that. But he never gets a chance, he's interrupted by the van door opening and they're dragged into what looks like the most cliched of an abandoned warehouses.   
  
"Russians, man," Jensen chokes out, the trip and whatever the fuck they injected him with has not been kind to him. "No originality." The guy mostly carrying, _dragging_ , him shakes him roughly at the words.   
  
The man with his hands fisting the back of Roque's shirt - the soon to be skull fucked fucker - jerks him to a stop, and Jensen and the guy holding him turn around so they are face to face. The kid's face is scrunched up and from the look of the hand on his shoulder, he's got tight fingers digging into his shoulder and a thumb pressing into the wound in his back.   
  
"He has the coding." The Russian tech says, jabbing a finger at Jensen's face. "One of you will talk."  
  
He sounds so much like a goddamned James Bond villian that Jensen lets a high pitched giggle at his accent, and if Roque wasn't getting his face punched he'd probably join him. The laughter quickly turns into a _aah, motherfuck, aaaaah-ow._  
  
"Aww man," Jensen whines, catching his breath and wincing as Roque's nose makes a horrible _breaking_ noise. "You're gonna make him hate me."  
  
"This will go easier for you if you just tell us what we want to know."  
  
"Dude, you'll just kill us, how fucking stupid do we look?" He leans forward under the pressure of the man's fingers on his shoulder. His face goes white and every time those fingers dig in, his eyes unfocus.   
  
"You turned my clothes pink, I already hate you." Roque says the words slowly, _carefully_. They still come out hard to decipher and with blood dribbling down his chin but Jensen starts laughing anyway; only hitching slightly as the hand on his shoulder tightens again.  
  
"Come on man, I said I was sorry about that," The men holding them start talking rapidly to each other, Roque doesn't need a translator to work out that they're saying _this isn't working_.  
  
"I apologised like a hundred fucking times. Oh Jesus, what the fuck did you guys inject me with?" Jensen is still laughing. Roque eyes him and wonders the same thing. "Hah! Oh my god, why is _everything_ funny?"  
  
They take Jensen, still giggling and babbling about how fucking sorry he was about the whole diamantes thing - even if it was fucking hilarious - to an adjoining room and Roque's world narrows down to the chair he's being tied to.  
  
  
  
  
"Do I look like I know anything about computers?" Roque spits out when Soon To Be Skull Fucked pauses hitting him. At this point his face is mostly numb.   
  
"No," Soon To Be Skull Fucked pauses to answer, which Roque considers a win in his direction. "You look like someone who knows explosives. You look like someone who killed two of my colleagues."   
  
Well, _fuck_.   
  
Soon To Be Skull Fucked resumes hitting him and Roque can't help but think about all the fine torturers Russia has produced. And why the fuck he's ended up with one that just hits and hits.   
  
He can hear Jensen in the room next door. It's a psychological tactic, Roque knows this, hearing the pained noises of someone you know. They're in a hurry, that's why they're not getting creative with pain. So instead they're just hitting Roque and forcing him listen to the noises they're making Jensen make next door. Given the time Roque has no doubt they could probably make him break - or at least turn him into a crying, bleeding, meat parody of a man.   
  
This knowledge doesn't stop Roque from giving Soon To Be Skull Fucked all kinds of shit for his piss poor hitting. Soon To Be Skull Fucked stands in front of him, watching Roque for any signs of weakness. He mustn't see anything he likes because he growls something at the other guy and disappears into the room where Jensen's being held.   
  
"You think you're so tough," The new guy spits at Roque. "Green beret, yankee motherfucker."   
  
Roque has a green beret somewhere in a box in storage. He remembers feeling so fucking proud when he earned it. It took less than two months for him to want to burn the damn thing; too many shitty missions where some keyboard typing, pasty faced wimp had fucked up the intel and some higher up screwed them over instead of listening to the guys on the ground.  
  
But he says nothing, even though the guy's spit is running down his face. Instead he thinks about Jensen's stupid beret, with its redesigned patch and motto - _NON EST MEA CULPA_. It always seemed like a lot of effort for a laugh at the unit's expense. But it _was_ pretty fucking funny when Jensen wandered around Fort Bragg with it on. Girls in bars certainly seemed to like it, though. Actually, now Roque thinks about it, they have probably gotten into more fights over Jensen's stupid beret than Cougar's woman stealing habits.  
  
When the guy pulls out a knife, shoving its point so close to Roque's face, his head fucking aches as his eyes try to focus on it. This is going to start getting bloody and quite frankly Roque is bored already. He knows the best way this ends is with two shots to the back of his head. If he's lucky. Now Roque hasn't completely made his peace with that ending, but that's something no one needs to know.  
  
  
  
It's not long after the first cut that Cougar sneaks into the warehouse without anyone noticing him. Roque thinks sometimes he should just kill the sneaky, creeping fucker because being that stealthy has got to be fucking abnormal. Roque only sees him the split second before Cougar takes the guy out, a quick cartilage cracking slide as a knife goes through his throat.  
  
"You going to sit there all day, hm?"  
  
It's almost fucking beautiful. It _almost_ makes up for the fact that Roque can see the sniper favouring his left shoulder and _son of a fucking bitch_ the fucker must have popped it out again, and _shit_ now he owes Jensen money.  
  
"How many you got?" Roque asks while Cougar cuts him free.   
  
"One more was on the roof." He answers shortly, looking towards the door.  
  
Roque takes the knife, its blade still dripping with his blood and heads for the door. He ignores the way his head complains when he moves it around, ignores the way his knee is bitching about all the misuse and he's really fucking not thinking about the blood running down the side of his neck. Head wounds always bleed a lot any fucking way.  
  
  
Jensen's been hooked up to some sort of IV. That's all that Roque notices in the split second it takes him to cross the room and jams his blade into Soon To Be Skull Fucked's neck. The guy makes a quiet _hrrk_ as Roque pulls the knife out and then, maybe because deep down inside Roque's shit is poetic or maybe because Roque likes to keep his violent threat-promises, he thrusts the knife through the man's eye socket.   
  
Blood spurts fucking everywhere and Jensen looks sick as it splatters across his face; but, fuck it, Roque's seen the kid do worse with computer cables. Honestly? There were times when _Jensen_ gave _Roque_ the creeps.   
  
Cougar has the Russian tech by his neck, holding him tight enough to make the guy's face turn a purplish red. Jensen growls as Roque unties him, ripping at the needle in his arm and ignoring everyone as he staggers across the room to where his computer has been hooked up with the Russian's.   
  
He taps at the keyboard for a moment.  
  
"Got the info?"  
  
"Yeah," Jensen hums. "Fuckers couldn't get past Skynet."  
  
"Skynet?"  
  
"Yeah, it's a virus."  
  
"Isn't that the name of that thing that was causing all that hell in the missile silos last year?" Cougar asks with a little frown. Roque grins because he can see where this is heading.  
  
"Yeah, the one that had everyone shitting their panties and then just disappeared?"  
  
Jensen clears his throat.  
  
"If anyone asks, this isn't my virus." He says, looking shiftily up at Cougar and Roque. "In fact you should just plead the fifth if it gets mentioned."  
  
The Russian tech growls something in Russian and Jensen looks at him.   
  
Then he calmly - _coldly_ \- disconnects his laptop from the other. Cougar opens his mouth to say something - probably _are you okay?_ or something along the same line of pansy-ass sentiments - but Jensen just looks at him.   
  
  
Roque doesn't get to see what Jensen's face looks like - a fact that will annoy him 'til his dying day - but _goddamn_ he feels something like pride, the kid's all grown up and mastering his shut-the-fuck-up-right-now death glares.  
  
Glare aside, Jensen ignores them both; just carefully straightens up and tightens his grip on the laptop's hard palstic cover. He makes his way over to Cougar and the skinny tech, stumbles - falling - and Cougar's arm shoots out and keeping him upright.   
  
The hacker shakes off the hand and just stands there swaying on his feet. There's practically no warning before Jensen swings the laptop. It connects against the Russian's jaw with a sickening crack. The first swing almost puts the kid on his ass, but he recovers from his over-swing and brings the laptop back for round two.  
  
Cougar steps back out of the way as Jensen gets in hit after hit; his face twitches slightly, like he wants to stop the whole thing but in the end he understands that sometimes you have to let a guy work out his issues the old fashioned way.   
  
Roque leans against the wall and lets the kid play the violence as punctuation game with the Russian's laptop. Besides if the kid stops, Roque's gonna have to step in because he's pretty sure knifing one guy isn't going to sate his fucking anger.  
  
"Fucking! Poser! Son! Of! A! Fucking! _Vor_! Don't! Touch! My! Computer!   
  
When he's done the laptop is barely recognizable; nobody moves as Jensen breathes hard and lets the laptop slip from his grip.  
  
  
  
The sound of sirens startles them out of their stalemate.  
  
"Ukrainians. _Of course_ they come _now_." Jensen says it loudly, teetering on the edge of hysterical laughter, looking up at the roof with an _oh, for fuck's sake just give us a break_ eye roll.   
  
Cougar looks at the two of them and Roque can almost hear the fucker deciding they aren't going to be much help if it comes down to a fire fight.   
  
"Sewers." Jensen says out the blue.  
  
"What?" Roque snaps.   
  
"Sewers, man." He's leaning heavily on the bench next to his shot up laptop. "Kiev has some pretty awesome sewers man - don't ask how I know that - but we can hide out in them until everything dies down."   
  
"You'll need someone to run point above ground. Be a distraction." Cougar speaks quietly as Jensen squints at him.   
  
"Your shoulder up for that?" Jensne looks at Roque as he asks, shit-eating grin on his face and _fuck_ Roque had been hoping the hacker was too drug fucked to remember their bet.  
  
Cougar growls the sniper's equivalent to _bitch please, I could take on an army with my hands tied behind my back_ and that's it.  
  
  
It takes most of Roque's strength to move the manhole cover. Jensen stands back hugging his busted computer like a teddy, alternating between watching Roque swear and sweat and looking back to where they left Cougar.   
  
"Get in the hole."   
  
Jensen stares down the black hole with a strange look on his face and doesn't move.   
  
"Jensen! Move your ass." Roque snaps because goddamn this was his idea. The hacker blinks, seems to come back to himself and makes for the hole with only minimal stumbling.  
  
"Do you think Cougs'll be okay?"   
  
Roque frowns.  
  
"Get in the hole." His head drops out of sight and Roque allows himself to worry a little bit. A _tiny_ bit. No matter what the fuck goes on between the hacker and Cougar, Jensen has never questioned Cougar's tendency to lone wolf himself into potentially suicidal situations. Roque sighs, climbing down the ladder; fuck he doesn't want to put up with this shit. He's too tired and sore and angry to deal with it.  
  
  
  
It takes about half an hour for Roque to notice that Jensen's lagging behind. He glances back; the hacker has actually stopped and is staring at his boots and the water - _god, Roque hopes it's mostly water_ \- soaking through them.  
  
"My feet are wet." He says with his face scrunching up like he wants to cry. Pouting like a fucking weepy five year old. Roque opens his mouth to say something fucking harsh but the kid just turns and makes like he's going back to get out of the water. From this angle Roque can see the shot Jensen took to the back has opened up again.   
  
In the darkness of the sewers it looks like a tarry black streak running down his back.  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake, come here." Roque growls, pulling off his jacket and shirt.  
  
"Steady on big boy, I'm injured." Jensen mocks in a high pitched voice, seemingly coming back to a semblance of lucidity.   
  
"Shut the fuck up and come 'ere." Roque grabs his arm and drags the hacker into the best available light.   
  
It's a pain in the ass to get to wound, Roque ends up cutting from the collar down to the mess at his shoulder blade. And it is a mess, bullet's still in there, but Roque can't do anything about that right now - even he wanted to, he'd probably kill Jensen with infection doing that _here_.  
  
Roque cleans it up as best he can to the soundtrack of _ow, ow. OW! Motherfucker, be gentle!_ ; then he wads up what's left of his shirt against the wound.  
  
"Hey, you still got duct tape in your pockets?" Jensen was always duct taping shit to other shit and somehow making it work. Between him and Pooch, Roque was a little surprised they hadn't run the army broke with their duct tape fetish.  
  
"Jensen! Duct tape!" He snaps again because Jensen is staring at ceiling and mostly ignoring him.  
  
"Yeah," He says, fumbling with his side pocket.  
  
Roque tapes up the wound as best he can, careful to keep the keep the tape from directly touching the hole, or the torn skin beside it. Eventually it'll have to come off, and Roque would really rather it not tear the wound apart when it does.  
  
"Oh, duct tape," Jensen mutters, forehead pressing against the dirty brick wall. "Pooch would be so proud of us man."  
  
"Sit still, goddammit" Roque says, and he's not even snapping anymore.  
  
He steps back and looks at his handiwork. Admittedly it's not great but, fuck, any port in a storm and all that shit, right? It's literally a fucking challenge to get Jensen's jacket back on, he seems to be slipping back into the fucking haze of drug induced giggling and nonsense talking that sets Roque's teeth on edge.  
  
"Hey," Jensen speaks up, hesitantly. "How do you think Cougar's doing? Do you think he's okay? He's very small."   
  
Roque chokes on a fucking giggle; while Roque is less than an inch shorter than Jensen - _the tall fuck_ \- Cougar sits at a tiny five-six.  
  
"I'm sure he's fine. He's dealt with his shortness for quite sometime now." He says with a straight face.   
  
"Where do you think he is?" Jensen obviously isn't ready to drop the subject.  
  
"Could be laying low," Roque thinks they've walked for at least a couple of hours, even with all the slowing down Jensen's been doing, they've probably created a good distance between them and everyone else. "Could fucking dead for all we know."  
  
Jensen stumbles, and for a moment Roque thinks he's fucked up and is going to be carrying the hacker and _fuck_. But he recovers, keeps walking and laughs softly.  
  
"Oh, Roque, you're a heart filled carebear."  
  
"Fuck, it's Cougar, you really think that fucker would go out without some serious fucking fireworks?" Roque asks, half angrily, half amused; because fuck it all, under all that sniper cool, Cougar was the most temperamental, moody, downright melodramatic motherfucker Roque knew. And yes, that included Jensen.   
  
He expects a laugh or some sort of recognition from Jensen, but when he turns back the hacker has almost completely stopped walking again. He's pressing his palm between his eyes, face scrunched up and frowning.  
  
"Hey!" Roque shakes him lightly; Jensen rocks on his heels, swaying.  
  
"How drugged-fucked are you?" Jensen blinks at Roque like he's trying to clear the shit that's fogging up his head; his pupils are so dilated that Roque can hardly see any blue; and that's bad. Fuck, Roque doesn't have the fucking know-how to deal with this shit.  
  
"Very. I think." It's the most concise answer Jensen's given him in the last couple of hours. It's almost sense-making, which is somewhat heartening.  
  
  
What's less heartening is an hour later when he starts refusing to walk any further. At first Roque tries to talk him into walking again. Then he tries to yell at him. No dice. Then he tries to drag Jensen but the hacker just shakes his arms and digs his heels in. Finally he just yells.  
  
"Is there anything that will make you start walking again?!"  
  
Jensen squeezes his eyes shut and turns back to the brick wall.  
  
"No." The word is said childishly, quietly; it seems to echo throughout the tunnel. Fuck, Roque has no goddamn time for this.  
  
So he knocks him out.  
  
  
  
"Why am I the princess?"   
  
The first fucking words Jensen says and Roque very nearly drops him on principle.  
  
"Why are you carrying me?" He groans, sounding much more like himself. Which is good, because for fuck's sake, for such a scrawny little bastard, he weighs a fuck-tonne.  
  
"Because you stopped walking, and we didn't have time for your fucking around."  
  
"Motherfucker, did you knock me out?" He sounds so offended that Roque almost laughs.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"When we get back, I am going to make you retake field first aid again because you obviously missed the finer fucking details. Let me down." Roque awkwardly puts his feet back on the ground, trying to not jostle or drop him even though his weight shifts alarmingly as the movement jars his shoulder. "Aaah man, if I have a concussion I will hate you."  
  
Roque grunts, because fuck, what answer can he give? And, fuck it, if you ask Roque he did the best thing. There's no way of telling if Cougar managed to leave a trail for the Ukrainians to follow, no way of knowing if anyone noticed Jensen and Roque slipping into the sewers. The more distance between them and there the better.  
  
Roque finds them a place to hole up. It's some sort of waystation - hasn't been visited for a long time from the look of the damp muddy dust - and it'll do for a moments rest. Besides, Roque isn't sure Jensen can walk a hell of a lot more, and even if he could, there was little fucking point to walking themselves to exhaustion without direction. So he helps Jensen up the couple of stairs and settles him against the brickwork without any complaints, a good sign of how bad off he is.   
  
"Okay, I'm going to check out the second rendezvous. See if Cougar's left us any clue as to where the fuck he is." Roque glances down at Jensen whose nodding half heartedly. He looks like fucking shit. "Don't move and get some fucking sleep, princess."  
  
Jensen's hand comes up and flips him off as he leaves.  
  
  
  
Rendezvous number two is completely fucking compromised. Roque doesn't know whether the Kiev _militsiya_ stumbled on it by chance or, fuck it all, maybe they followed Cougar there. He can't get close enough to really learn anything and _fuck, fuck, fuck_.  
  
Fuck it, Roque'll just regroup back with Jensen and discuss their fucking options. He can't stay too long here anyway; while he might not look as fucked up and dodgy as Jensen, but he's still got dried blood flaking off his neck, his nose is broken and his jaw feels almost fucking unhinged, so Roque has no illusions as to how fucking suspicious he looks. He slips away from the flashing lights, fades back into the shadows like he was never there.  
  
Roque's still fucking fuming from the newest fucking problem when he reaches the place he left Jensen. The kid's supposed to be sacked out, sleeping and fucking resting, only he's not there.   
  
Instead he's sitting on the stairs fiddling with what looks like a two-way radio.   
  
"Wha-"   
  
Roque takes a moment and breathes.  
  
"Whe-"   
  
No. He is not going to get angry.  
  
"Do I even want to fucking know where, or even _how_ you got that?"   
  
Jensen doesn't even look up as he answers. "Probably not."  
  
"Can you make it work?"  
  
The hacker looks up, _bitch please_ practically written across his face. Roque lifts his hands in mock surrender.  
  
"Man, I'm just asking, because maybe all them knocks to the head gave you brain damage. 'Cos I seem to recall telling you, hell, _ordering_ you to fucking stay here and rest; try to get that shit out of your system. Not go to RadioShack on a goddamned shopping spree."  
  
Jensen looks a little chastised by Roque's rant, but there's a spark of annoyance and resentment lingering in his eyes. That spark makes Roque a little more optimistic at the chances of him getting them both out of here.   
  
"Okay, fine. Make it work. And then you are going to get some fucking shut eye if I have to knock you out again."  
  
  
  
Somehow, and Roque's really not asking because he's not sure he'll believe the answer let alone _like_ it, Jensen's got all sorts of extras to wire to the radio.   
  
Roque lowers himself down beside Jensen; he's a little stiff, but all the walking and moving he's done has staved off the worst of it. He watches Jensen, the hacker's spare set of glasses are perched on the end of his nose, eyes intent on where his hands are deftly fiddling with the tiny wires.   
  
"Life-time celibacy glasses." Roque blurts out, because, honestly, he's been thinking about it for - fucking - ever.  
  
"Hey fuck you, man. Don't diss the Lennon specs man," Jensen argues back, not looking up from what he's doing. "People all over the world want to do because of these awesome glasses. Besides, the fucking alternative is catch-me-fuck-me ones, and my heart just couldn't bear the insult."  
  
"I'm a little surprised you didn't lose your spares to our little Russian friends." Roque comments; _his_ pockets got emptied, and in the rush to get the fuck out of dodge he never did get around to retrieving his flick knife. He _liked_ that knife.  
  
"Heh, guess they were too busy roofy-ing me to rob me blind."  
  
"Or maybe they just didn't think a pair of glasses were that much of a threat."  
  
Jensen snorts, then they both break into full blown laughter. It doesn't take long to trail into bitter sighs, but it feels good to laugh about something.   
  
Jensen snorts one last _heh_ before going back to his radio and Roque ends up passing things to Jensen as the hacker mumbles shit like _we got any more of that duct tape left?_ and _keep this up and I might have to blow you_.  
  
  
  
Roque's not sure he should be letting Jensen play with electronics, but, really, there's not a whole lotta other options jumping out at him. Besides, the hacker's looking a little more animated - a little more himself - so Roque leaves him be. If this works it'll be great and, really, Roque just doesn't want to deal with taking the hacker's toys off him. It's shitty and annoying on a good fucking day.  
  
"S'okay man. If I can do this drunk, I can do this drugged up with a fever."   
  
"Fever?" Roque grinds his teeth and presses the back of his hand against Jensen's skin. It's hot and feels overly soft, like there's too much fluid just under the skin.  
  
"Yeah, did I forget to tell you? My bad, man." He doesn't look to sorry about it, ripping stripes of duct tape with his teeth and Roque can't decide if he's adding an aerial or creating a fucking rocket.  
  
  
When Jensen's finally finished and hands it over, Roque handles the radio gingerly. He's honestly not convinced the damned thing isn't going to explode in his face.  
  
"Come on man, I'm sick, not fucking brain-dead." Jensen whines. Roque glares at him and the hacker raises his palms. "Okay, okay. I'm resting. Just call our kitty back home."  
  
They both snicker at that and Roque can't help but call _kitty, kitty, you reading me_? through the radio.   
  
It doesn't explode or turn into a robot so Roque has to presume it's working.   
  
"On the right frequency?"  
  
Roque glares at the radio, it's so covered in duct tape and extra wires, it's barely recognizable as a radio.  
  
"How the _fuck_ would I know? You're the goddamned techie, you set the fucking thing."  
  
"Just asking, jesus, calm down." Roque glares at him, he's fucking shifting around and _squirming_. Roque narrows his eyes.  
  
"Okay! Sorry. I'm resting!" He folds his arms and leans against the wall, closing his eyes. "See how restful I look?"   
  
He doesn't look very restful at all. He looks like he could do with a litre of blood and a long course of strong antibiotics.  
  
"Good job, princess. Now, no talking, Daddy's working."  
  
Jensen snorts a half giggle at that, but keeps his eyes closed; slumping lower, trying to find a position comfortable enough to drift to sleep.  
  
Roque presses the button.  
  
"Cougs, you hearing me loser?"   
  
  
Then they wait. Jensen launches into a monologue about how much he hates it 'when in movies and shit, the guys hold the fingers on the buttons and keep calling over and over without ever giving anyone a chance to answer'. Personally, that shit grates on Roque too, he just doesn't feel the need to announce his feelings to the world.  
  
In reality it's call - wait - call - wait - call and hope to god you aren't calling over Cougar's.   
  
"Lima-One, this is Lima-Actual, how secure is this line?"  
  
When the voice comes through, Roque almost doesn't recognize it, then he realises - _Clay_ \- and wonders just how much hair Clay's pulled out since the clusterfuck that morning.   
  
"Talking to you on what looks like wires duct taped to a dead rat so, unsecure as it gets."  
  
"Roger, what's your mission status?"  
  
Roque looks across at Jensen who has reclaimed his laptop, holding it like it's his baby.   
  
"Tell 'em I got it. Mostly. Rest of it s'all in the ol noggin." Jensen says, rapping his knuckles against his skull. "Ow."  
  
"Got what we need."  
  
"Team status?"  
  
"One down, one missing kitten." Jensen snickers in the background. Shit's still funny.  
  
"We picked your kitten, just need you to come in and claim him."  
  
Jensen closes his eyes, smiles and leans his head back against the bricks. He looks as relieved as Roque feels. Finally they've gotten a fucking break. Roque grins - widely and sharply - against the radio, teeth clicking against the plastic and duct tape.  
  
"Just tell us where."


End file.
